Demo Dies Poem by Mbusya Wa Mbusya

My childhood friend had dreams,
His face photo hanging on all public places,
(in fact he appeared in obituary page)

He had aspirations of flagged convoy,
He had began writing speeches,
At the age of thirty,
Somebody got him by chance,
A single bullet meant,
To hurt nobody…

I attended the funeral
In the hero's square,
It was funny that he,
Was dressed in
Black, green, white and red,
Two statues posed on each side of the coffin
In front of the podium,
Where the Premier sat

I peeped in the casket,
His face had smacks of dry blood,
frozen pain and surgical marks,
Unable to hide the terror of a policeman's bullet
And the ice of the undertaker's slab

I didn't participate in the peaceful demonstration thereafter,
Scared of the statues manning the freedom walk
I went home to celebrate a passing of an era.